Just One Last Breath
by Kodiak Bear Country
Summary: A trip to a world seeking a potential ally, turns into a dangerous situation for the team. [COMPLETE]
1. Chapter 1

Title: Just One Last Breath  
Author: Kodiak Bear Country  
Email: T  
Genre: Action/Adventure, H/C  
Warnings: None  
Season/Spoilers: Up to Runner, season two  
Summary: A trip to a world seeking a potential ally, turns into a dangerous situation for the team.  
Archive: ask, SGAHC  
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm not getting paid for this. Well, I wish I was. Because then I could make a living out of it – okay, okay, enough whining, on with the story –

AN: This is a response to the SGAHC "one last breath" challenge.

**Just One Last Breath**

A Kodiak Bear Country Production

One last breath…this was not how it was supposed to happen, _damn it__Sheppard, breathe_ – Rodney listened for the rasp of an inhalation, held his face steady as stone over Sheppard's mouth, waiting – begging – for that soft waft of air that would tell him he'd taken another breath.

"I'm still -" Sheppard gurgled over the seeping blood, weeping out his mouth, and down his chin, "-here."

McKay's eyes burned. He knew his friend was in pain, so much damn pain, the arrow sticking straight through his chest ensured that, and he couldn't do a thing for him.

Carson had made him swear to leave the arrow alone.

"You're doing fine, Colonel," said McKay, forcing his words to stay calm, something to stay calm, because god knows, he wasn't calm at all.

"Mc-Kay." Sheppard's hand reached for Rodney's jacket, finding it, and latched on with the strength of a dying man. "Not," Sheppard wheezed, fighting for air, "your fault."

The panic down deep that McKay had tried to force into nothingness, had tried to force into that black hole where he had to keep those emotions, because they were so fucking crippling when something like this happened, wouldn't stay contained. The gravitational pull that was Sheppard was greater, and Rodney frantically sought Sheppard's hand, tacky with drying blood, and held it, not sure if it was a lifeline for John, or for himself.

"Don't," he whispered, cracking despite himself and all his vows. "Don't you fucking give up, Colonel, you hear me! You are not leaving me to explain this to Elizabeth, or Caldwell, or anyone else, you hear!" He was practically shouting now. "You take that last breath, and then you do it again, and you keep taking every damn last breath until I get you back to Carson-"

The frothy chuckle from Sheppard sent chills through McKay's veins. "It's" _breathe_ "not" _breathe_ "a" _breathe_ "last" _breathe_ "breath" _breathe_ "if -"

McKay waited – but Sheppard didn't finish, and Sheppard wasn't breathing anymore.

"No, no no no, Sheppard, don't -"

"Doctor McKay, what is the status of Colonel Sheppard?"

Beckett. Atlantis. The rear of the jumper was falling open, and he could see the medical team running towards him. They'd made it? Time slows, events freeze, and blood thickens –

"Save him," croaked Rodney, still holding Sheppard's hand. The dried blood had sealed their skin together, blood brothers, like the game kids play, but this hadn't been a game –

OoO

"McKay," called John, looking at the figure hunched over the laptop. When seconds passed, and the figure remained still, Sheppard walked quietly till he was near the man, reaching for the large text that was on the table. He lifted it gently, and pulled it back, over open air, before letting it go.

The thick volume hit the floor with a resounding thunk that rattled even Sheppard's ears, and he'd been expecting it.

McKay jerked, a line of drool pulled taut between the corner of the computer and his face, as he straightened up slowly, looking around with a mild panic at the sudden noise. "Whazzit?"

Sheppard crossed his arms, trying to avoid the P90, and waited for the man to wake up fully.

Rodney's mind began to process events, and he wiped at the drool with minor amounts of self-consciousness, before smacking his head, "I'm late!"

"About twenty minutes."

"Oh god." McKay stumbled from his stool, and almost tripped, before righting himself. "Ow, ow, legs asleep." He reached for the table, and winced as his nerve endings began to wake up.

Sheppard's eyebrow rose in an amused arch. "You do realize you've got a bed for that kind of thing."

"If I was supposed to be doing 'that kind of thing', I would've gone to bed, Colonel," snapped McKay. "But seeing how I was supposed to be in the jumper bay, it stands to reason that falling asleep was not intentional."

"You know," started Sheppard, "One would almost think you've got two states; asleep, and smart ass."

"I'm sorry," said McKay. "Did I miss something, or was you're only point in coming down here to annoy me?"

Well, there was that – he could've sent Dex, or Teyla, or even that marine that was going along with them, but McKay had this special spot in his heart – the spot that needed to annoy, pester, bug – you get the idea.

"Never mind." McKay got the gist of Sheppard's silence. "I can see the steam coming from your ears. I'll be there in ten minutes." He waved Sheppard toward the door.

Sheppard went, but called out, "Five, and the only steam in this room is from your drool evaporating."

Whether McKay had a come back for that, or not, he didn't know, because he decided it was time to leave Rodney to the business of grabbing his gear and meeting them in the jumper bay. He'd give him the ten minutes, but no more. It was McKay time. Ten minutes equaled twenty, five equaled ten. The man had a doubling issue. At least he didn't work in exponential time. Then ten minutes would be one hundred, and well, that was over an hour and a half –

"Colonel, did you find Rodney?"

Sheppard tapped his earpiece. "I did, he's on his way."

"Good, make sure you give him the lecture on using tact. The Kenai people are touchy, and we wouldn't want any misunderstandings."

She was as good as saying that McKay's sometimes, okay, _oftentimes_, obnoxious politics, could land them in the dung pile, and he needed to keep his mouth shut this trip out. "Got it," he acknowledged.

He was in the jumper bay, and saw Dex leaning against the tail end of the ship. "Did you find the lost puppy?" Ronon questioned softly, smiling easily.

Dex had surprised Sheppard. The man was probably the most dangerous person in Atlantis, capable of taking any one of them down in a heartbeat, and yet, from the time he'd latched eyes on the upside down hanging McKay, he'd treated the hypochondriac physicist with something indefinable. A mixture of amused respect, protectiveness, and always watchful.

The protectiveness extended to all of them, Sheppard had noticed that. For some reason, Dex had this Chewbacca like loyalty, and John wasn't sure where that'd come from, or why, but he'd thought for sure McKay would irritate Dex. Kind of like when you rub a cats fur the wrong way. But Dex's claws hadn't come out yet, and Sheppard was beginning to believe, they never would, at least towards McKay or any of them.

"I'm here," called out McKay, rushing into the bay, dragging his bag. He moved rapidly by Dex and Sheppard, muttering as he went, "today, gentlemen, I'm on a timetable here."

Sheppard shared an amused look with Ronon, before heading towards the cockpit. "Then by all means, McKay, lets keep your timetable."

Teyla smiled at him in greeting, and the marine shot a nervous look at Dex, before settling in a seat towards the rear. Sheppard slid into his seat, and began bringing the systems online, already commanding the jumper to start up, and prepare to drop into the gateroom.

"Jumper one to Flight, we are ready to go," he said in his radio.

A feminine voice he didn't quite recognize yet answered, "Flight to Jumper one, you are cleared for travel, have a safe trip."

Sheppard grinned as the power of the ancient ship thrummed under his skin. "Thanks, Flight, see you tomorrow, Jumper one out."

They dropped, and shot forward through the event horizon. Their destination was M52-4X5, home of the Kenai, a fairly advanced race wanting to open negotiations for an alliance against the wraith. The two respective leaders, Weir and Klicktik, had arranged for Sheppard's team to spend twenty-four hours getting to know the Kenai people. To get a feel for how they live, work, and hopefully, fight. Sheppard was looking forward to it, but there was the problem of McKay's mouth – he'd have to keep it shut. If McKay could do that, nothing could go wrong. They'd meet the people, do some schmoozing, and go home. Nothing could go wrong –

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks to everyone for the reviews. I always want to reply to each person individually because it means so much, but then I go and look, and it would take me the entire morning, so in the interest of taking that time to write more of the story, I settle for a mass thank you. I do want you all to know that it does mean a huge amount (as I'm sure a lot of you do know), but if you ever do want to ask specific questions or get a response, feel free to email me. I try to reply to anything that comes in my inbox. **

**II.**

They'd parked the jumper outside the town, far enough that it would be left alone, but not so far they couldn't get to it in the event of an emergency – loosely translated to mean – the wraith.

After meeting up with Klicktik, and his welcoming party, they'd split into two groups. Ronon and Teyla had gone to learn about the Kenai's warrior training program, and Sheppard had gone with McKay to study their weapons technology.

They wound up in a lab that reminded Sheppard of his tenth grade chemistry class. It smelled like sulfur, and there were all types of liquids in canisters and beakers, and some of it bubbled over flames.

Sheppard nudged McKay, "Does this look to you like chemical warfare?"

"If you're asking if I think they're working on the next light beer, no," growled McKay, sotto voice, so they weren't overheard.

"That's what I thought." _Damn_, Sheppard swore to himself, biological weapons were never good business. They had a nasty habit of killing the people they were created to protect.

"Colonel, if you and Doctor McKay would come this way, please?" a lab worker called to them, and Sheppard realized they'd dropped back, falling behind in their curiosity over the contents of the beakers.

Sheppard jerked his head in acknowledgement, and pulled McKay along. Twenty-four hours to glean all they could, but it'd taken less than one hour to discover bad news.

The next room must be where the chemicals from the previous room were loaded into ballistics, because shells and shell casings were propped on tables, and along the walls.

"As you can see, we have an extensive ordinance program in effect. It has proven to be a deterrent against the wraith, though we have not been wholly successful in driving them away."

McKay snorted, and Sheppard elbowed him.

The speaker paused, waiting for an explanation, and John smiled effacingly, "Impressive," he lied.

The afternoon didn't get any better. After leaving the weapons building, they were shown to a dome shaped building of worship, and lead to a bench that gave Sheppard flashbacks to the time he'd attended church with his best friend's family. There'd been so much up and down, and kneeling, he'd quit trying to follow along and moved when his friend had moved.

Klicktik arrived, and soon others began filing in the room. Sheppard leaned to McKay and asked, "Did you know about this part?"

"What do you think?" McKay hissed back.

"I think you feel that religion is a poor substitute for the unknowns of science," parroted Sheppard.

Rodney's grimace was tinged with pleased satisfaction. "I see you do pay attention to me."

"Only when I have to, McKay," said John. "Only when I have to."

"Setting aside your blatant attempt at humor, which fell short, I might add, what is this? Obviously, some type of religious ceremony, but this wasn't included in the itinerary."

Sheppard didn't know anymore than McKay, but he supposed they'd have to go along with the show, and hope nobody asked them to do anything crazy like sacrifice a virgin, or something.

Or something – because they did – oh, not sacrifice a virgin, but it came close. About halfway into the ceremony, and about the time when Sheppard began to wonder why the hell Dex and Teyla were being spared this, the room fell silent, and all eyes turned on him and McKay.

Klicktik bowed their direction. "Fellow members, we now bid welcome to Doctor Rodney McKay, and Colonel John Sheppard." He stopped and stared at them, waiting expectantly.

McKay looked across at Sheppard, worry beginning to creep across his face. "Do something," he snapped.

"Do what?" Sheppard snapped back. He waved uneasily towards the crowd.

Klicktik finally gestured impatiently at them to come to the altar.

Rodney paled. "No, forget it. I don't do alien altars."

"Just go," Sheppard said tightly. The situation was spiraling out of his control, and the best he could hope for was that it was going to be a harmless speech or something else innocuous required of them.

McKay got up reluctantly, and made his way to the front, Sheppard hot on his heels. Once they were standing, facing the crowd, a priest walked in from an alcove behind them. The priest was leading a goat, virginal white, and bleating at the mistreatment of being led into the room. Obviously, the animal was smarter than the two of them had been.

Sheppard locked eyes with McKay, and both shared the sinking feeling that the goat was the one not leaving this room alive. McKay kind of jerked his head towards Klicktik, just enough for Sheppard to see, and mouthed, _'do something'_.

Do what? Elizabeth had told him to be careful. Don't insult the touchy aliens. But partaking in a religious sacrifice wasn't exactly what they'd signed up to do. With a heavy feeling, he realized just how unspecific the agreement had been. In fact, it could be loosely interpreted to mean anything. _Shit_. How did they manage to keep getting into these kinds of situations?

He cleared his throat nervously, and while the priest began a ritual chant, eased closer to Klicktik and whispered, "We need to leave." It was a poor attempt, but he couldn't say 'we object to what you are about to do on personal levels' or 'killing animals for sacrifice is something frowned upon by our people'.

Klicktik didn't reply, instead he shook his head abruptly to indicate 'be silent' and 'no' at the same time.

Should they leave? It was at that point where the crowd murmured a response to the priest, and the goat was lifted by a pair of helpers who materialized from either side of them, and it was efficiently strapped to the altar on its side, legs tied. A band of leather kept the animals neck in place.

The priest withdrew a dagger, and Sheppard slid closer to McKay pulling him back so they would be out of the splatter zone. This was going to be gruesome, and as soon as they could get away, they would, but for now he could only limit what they had to see.

But the priest didn't approach the goat. He approached them. He stepped in front of McKay, and bowing low, held out the ceremonial dagger.

Sheppard watched as Rodney's face transformed from thinly concealed disgust, to uneasiness, to outraged surprise. "No," he said forcefully, stepping back from the knife. "Sorry, I have this aversion to butchering helpless animals."

The second the words left McKay's mouth, Sheppard realized he'd made a critical error. The priest's face grew angry, and cold, and he waved to the helpers who had secured the goat. Four very burly men, who looked capable of giving Ronon a run for his money came at them, two seized McKay, one on either arm, and John had a sinking feeling that he was losing any façade of control.

"Woah, there, hang on – he didn't mean anything!" protested Sheppard. He moved to retrieve McKay from their clutches, but Klicktik waved for the other two large men, and they grabbed Sheppard.

"He has insulted the priest," said Klicktik gravely. "For this he must face the Beriad."

Beriad? What was that? Sheppard had the uncomfortable sensation of a hundred eyes boring into him, and he tried unsuccessfully to shrug out of the hold the men had on him. "Could we discuss this elsewhere?"

"There is nothing to discuss." Klicktik had their captors haul them behind the altar, out of the way of the priest, but in a location where they had to watch the entire process.

"Damn it, McKay, I told you to keep your mouth shut," Sheppard bitched, as the man on his right twisted his arm back painfully to quiet him.

McKay was a mixture of annoyance and fear. "What was I supposed to do?" he snapped. "Gaily go along with slaughtering the poor little goat?"

"Better the goat than us, don't you think?"

That earned Sheppard a smack on the side of his head. When he straightened from the blow, he glared at the brute responsible. "I get it, okay, be quiet," he muttered. The guard merely looked at the priest, ignoring Sheppard.

The priest was waving a smoking rod of incense over the now calm goat, and Sheppard figured there must've been some chemical in the smoke. He proceeded to chant, and the crowd joined in with the priest, and the guards holding him and McKay began to chant as well.

It was eerie, and when the priest slit the goat's throat, the brutal act seemed so sudden, that it caused Sheppard to jerk back, forgetting he was being held in place.

"Oh, god," McKay muttered, before trying to pull away. He couldn't move, and wound up leaning forward, retching from the gore.

The smell of vomit and blood almost undid Sheppard's stomach as well, but he managed to stamp the nausea down. Klicktik looked annoyed at McKay's reaction. As the people began to leave the room, he ordered their guards to take them to the holding room.

"Our people will come looking for us," threatened Sheppard, as they were dragged from the room.

Klicktik didn't look concerned. "They are welcome to do so, but that won't stop your friend from facing the Beriad tonight."

They were tossed in a room that was bare of any amenities; a mattress in a corner, and a small hole that must be the toilet. Sheppard paced restlessly at first, while McKay dropped on the mattress, trying to recover his stomach.

It'd probably been an hour before either of them spoke, but nerves finally broke Rodney. "Where are Ronon and Teyla? Do you think they know what's happened?"

"I don't know, and I don't know."

"You're a lot of help."

Sheppard turned away from the wall he was examining for a way out. "Like you? You know, McKay, you are nine-tenths reaction, and one-tenth control. You never think before you open that mouth of yours. How you managed to -"

McKay was, at that moment, ten-tenths outrage; "You're blaming me for this?"

"I wasn't the one who pissed off the priest."

Rodney jumped to his feet. "No, you're right. You didn't say anything. In fact, you stood there while that psychotic throwback to the good old days handed me the dagger. What was I supposed to do? God, I can hardly cut my steak once it's cooked!"

"You didn't give me a chance!" retorted Sheppard heatedly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said McKay sarcastically. "Should I have waited till I was cutting the damn things throat?"

"If that's what it took!"

Both men were now only inches apart, and the anger was crackling between the two. At Sheppard's final dig, Rodney pulled back, and the sudden chill in the room had nothing to do with the ambient temperature. "I see," he said finally.

Sheppard saw the hurt beneath the surface of McKay, and regretted his harsh words. He _should've_ done something before it got to that point. Should've hauled their asses out of that ceremony from the get-go. It was his fault the situation had escalated. "No, I'm sorry," he said wearily. "I should've gotten us out of there before it came to that."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should've," agreed McKay, but added, "And I shouldn't have reacted like I did. You're right, I screwed up. I speak first, think later."

The door opening sent both men pulling back in wary preparation. The same four guards stepped in, and waited after moving to the side. Klicktik, and a new guy they hadn't met before, walked in to stand before them.

"This is Rakura, leader of the Beriad, he is here to ensure that the contestant is prepared and ready to fight."

Fight? Sheppard frowned at the usage of contestant and fight. "What is this Beriad?" He'd assumed it was some kind of trial or punishment.

Rakura seemed startled by their lack of knowledge, but explained, "It is a fight in the arena of training. The accused faces off with a trained warrior. It is how we teach our warriors, and it provides valuable experience before we must face the wraith. It also serves as a form of entertainment."

"So all I have to do is fight?" asked McKay.

"Can I take his place?" Sheppard could hold his own against an opponent a lot better than McKay. He'd rather be the one beaten up, than Rodney. Plus, he was more expendable, and Atlantis could function with him laid up in the infirmary, as opposed to the head scientist.

Klicktik answered both. "Yes, and you may."

"Then it is settled," said Rakura.

"No, it's not!" exploded McKay.

Sheppard growled, "Not now, Rodney."

"You are not fighting my battles, Sheppard. I did it, I should be the one to fight. I don't need protecting like some weak younger sibling."

"You're my responsibility, and I don't want you fighting, simple as that."

McKay disagreed, vehemently. "No," he said. "Kukura, or whatever your name is, take me to this arena." He held out his hands to be led away.

Sheppard pushed down his arms, and stepped in front. "I am his commander, therefore, I have the final say in what happens, and I say I'm taking his place, clear?" he addressed Rakura and Klicktik.

"It is your right," said Rakura.

Klicktik nodded. "Take them to the arena," he ordered.

As they were pushed out the room, McKay shot Sheppard a look that promised this wasn't over by a long shot.

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Wow, I'm really surprised by the reaction to this little fic! You know, originally, I was just going to do the scene in the jumper with McKay, and leave it at that. I guessed you all wouldn't be thrilled at being left hanging, and decided to tell the pre-story and aftermath (and now aren't you glad I did)! Seriously, thanks for the reviews, you've made a happy writer on this side of the PC. **

**III.**

They were led out of the prison building, and through another door, which gave way to a medium-sized oval arena. Sheppard could see roughly cut wooden seats filled with people waiting eagerly for the evening's entertainment. He realized that would be him.

What he was hoping for was Ronon and Teyla signaling Atlantis that there was something wrong. By now, they'd been out of touch for the entire day, and that went against protocol. Ronon was new, but Teyla would know something was up. Of course, there was always the off chance that something had happened to the other two members.

"Doctor McKay, if you would," Klicktik gestured towards a balcony off to the right of the entrance they had come in.

So, this is where they split company, Sheppard thought. He caught Rodney's gaze, and said without speaking for him to go with Klicktik, to cooperate and not make the situation worse than it was. McKay's imperceptible shake fueled Sheppard's irritation, and he hardened his stare. If McKay tried anything now -

One of Sheppard's guards tugged him, "This way, Colonel," said Rakura.

"I'll see you soon," Sheppard assured McKay.

Rodney could tell he was a precariously balanced log on water, and the stubborn jut of his chin retreated slightly. "You bet," he promised to Sheppard, layers of meaning in his words.

John allowed himself to be led into the center of the arena. The crowd applauded, and shouted. He wasn't sure if they were rooting for him, but no one was throwing rotten produce, so that had to be a good sign.

He wasn't looking when his opponent was brought in. Instead, he'd found where McKay was sitting next to Klicktik, and was trying to exude confidence to ease Rodney's stiff posture. He was telecasting that everything would be fine. He heard the crowd fall quiet, and saw the stunned expression on McKay's face.

Whirling, he stared in disbelief at Ronon, who was staring at him with equal surprise. Ronon turned on the large guard who had led him in, asking, "What is this?" and his demeanor was predatory.

Yeah, what the hell is this, thought Sheppard angrily. He narrowed his eyes at Ronon. "Where's Teyla?"

"With you, I was told," answered Ronon stiffly.

Klicktik was standing in the box; Ronon and Sheppard both turned to look at him, and saw Teyla was now sitting beside McKay, and both were under heavy guard. Teyla looked pissed and McKay was as confused as he was angry.

That makes two of them, because Sheppard wanted to know what was going on.

"Klicktik, is this how you treat your guests?" bellowed Sheppard.

"Your Doctor McKay insulted our ways, Colonel!" shouted the Kenai leader. "For that, you accepted his place in battle."

"And of me?" Ronon called. "I will not fight Sheppard!"

"You will, because if you don't, you all will die," vowed Klicktik. "If Sheppard wins, your two companions and the colonel may leave. If you win, Ronon, I will release Miss Emmagan and Doctor McKay, but you will remain and fight for our world, and train our people."

"Like hell he will," growled Sheppard. They'd been double-crossed, and led into this situation, it was now as plain as writing on the wall, but that fucking thing about hindsight – it does you no good.

The entire goat sacrifice had been orchestrated. Ronon and Teyla had been separated from them for a reason. Everything had been played out in perfect script since their arrival, and now they were screwed.

A sharp yell, and Sheppard's attention was drawn back to McKay, who was no longer sitting, but forced to stand, with a knife to his throat.

Klicktik was smiling with patent pleasure. And why shouldn't he, thought Sheppard angrily, he had them by the proverbial balls, and knew it. He saw the knife press harder into McKay's flesh, and he could just make out a droplet of blood welling at the edge of the blade.

"Son of a bitch!" swore Sheppard. "Stop it!"

"You will fight?" asked Klicktik, waving a backhanded move at the guard to hold his action.

"I'll fight," Sheppard conceded. He looked over at Ronon, and shook his head no, because he could see Dex gearing up to attack the Kenai guard beside them. If he did that, Sheppard knew McKay would be dead before they even made two steps. "But Ronon goes free if he wins!"

That smug bastard merely shook his head. "You are in no position for demands, Colonel."

Hate is such a strong word, but at that moment, hatred was what Sheppard felt for Klicktik, hell, for the entire Kenai people. If he could, at that moment, he would gladly have wrung the man's neck.

A weapon was thrust into his hand, and he jerked back, almost dropping the sword. Sword? He didn't know how to swordfight? He looked up, and caught a lethal looking crossbow being thrust into Ronon's hand.

The reality settled on him like a thick yoke, and he wanted to throw the sword down in disgust. There had to be a way out of this –

Ronon stalked forward, clasping hands, and grabbing his wrist firmly. "I will try not to injure you fatally," he uttered low, between them only.

"That's comforting," Sheppard retorted equally low, a trace of amusement at the very unfunny situation. He didn't have any illusions that he'd be the one trying not to be killed. He'd seen Ronon fight, hell, had put the man through his paces before allowing him to join his team.

"As we fight, move closer to their location, and on my mark, we turn on them," Ronon continued hurriedly. "I'll take out the one on McKay."

It could work. Ronon had the bow, and it'd get the greatest threat out of the way. Sheppard's heart was pounding. If they screwed up – "Make it count," he urged, and took a swing at Ronon's face with the hand not trying to hold on to the sword.

The punch he got in his face in return was a lot stronger and on the mark than his had been. He went down, but rolled in the direction of the balcony.

They fought, hands and fists, feet and legs, but keeping the weapons out of it. Sometimes, that meant tossing the weapons to the side, and if that edged them closer to McKay and Teyla, all the better. Ronon wasn't holding back, and though Sheppard wasn't either, he was getting a lot less in than the other man, and taking more hits than he should have.

He could sense the edge of the arena off to his right now. But, he could also sense the growing unrest with the crowd. They were getting tired of the non-lethal fighting. They wanted to see blood, and see someone die. Meeting Ronon's look, he felt obliged to give them what they wanted.

They both rolled, grabbing their discarded weapons, and coming to their feet without pausing. "Now!" shouted Ronon, discharging the arrow in his cross bow. It flew home, piercing the guard holding McKay in the chest, and he fell back dead; the final thought registered on the man's face was surprise, as his eyes widened even as he slumped backwards. The arrow had grazed McKay's shoulder en route, and now Rodney was standing hunched to the side, staring in shock at the rapid turn of events.

"Stop them!" shouted Klicktik, but Sheppard was already advancing on the leader, sword high and ready for a slicing stroke. They'd left their P90's in the jumper, per the agreement, but this metal weapon would do the job as well as anything else, it'd just be a lot messier, and right now, messy had a promise of satisfaction.

Sheppard could see Teyla on the left fighting a guard, and she quickly disarmed the man, and took the crossbow, aiming it at a line of approaching men. Shit! If they didn't finish this soon, they'd be outnumbered, and overwhelmed, and some how John didn't think the option of McKay and Teyla leaving alive was open for discussion anymore.

A guard stepped between him and Klicktik, but Sheppard punched hard with his left, and swung with his right, and the guard went down screaming, as his arm was practically severed above the elbow - definitely messier, thought John savagely.

Sheppard leapt forward, and brought the sword up to Klicktik's throat. "Not so fun when it's your neck on the line, is it," he said coolly.

"Sheppard, look out!"

John turned to McKay, only to watch as Rodney leapt at a guard aiming a crossbow at his back. McKay drilled the man to the ground, and yanked the weapon, flipping it to the handle side, and brought it down hard on the guard's head.

"Let's go!" Sheppard shouted, knowing the longer they lingered, the more the odds stacked against them escaping.

Klicktik took the opportunity, and shoved away from Sheppard, disappearing in the mass of bodies that were beginning to riot. Seems the Kenai people weren't at all particular about whose blood was being spilled, and the fight had become a free for all.

They started sprinting for the exit, making it with little trouble, and headed towards the jumper. They could see it in the distance, not far, and Sheppard thought they'd make it. He was wrong.

"Colonel!"

Sheppard looked over his shoulder, and felt his stomach leap to his throat. Klicktik had an arrow pressed against McKay's side. John's feet stalled without conscious thought, and he turned. "Let him go," he ordered evenly. "You kill him, and I'll kill you."

"Take his place," offered Klicktik. "And the rest of your team may go."

"I thought you wanted Ronon?" Sheppard was trying to find a way out of this. He could tell Ronon and Teyla had stopped running as well, and were waiting behind him; waiting to see what he'd do.

Klicktik jerked his head dismissively. "He'd be too difficult to control; I changed my mind, I want you. Your life for Doctor McKay, how much does he mean to you, Colonel?"

How much did McKay's life mean to him? Sheppard wasn't about to admit it meant everything. "Fine," he answered abruptly.

"What the hell are you doing?" barked McKay. "No fucking way!"

"Shut up, McKay!" Sheppard started moving stealthily towards Klicktik. "Let him go, you've got me." He dropped the sword, and lifted his hands up in complacency.

But McKay had other plans. As Klicktik's weapon relaxed, he shoved an elbow in the man's gut, and spun around, trying to pull the crossbow free.

Klicktik struggled, and just as McKay thought he had it, the weapon fired. Sheppard would've swore that time stopped, as a horrified McKay tried to turn to him and shout a warning, "Sheppard!" but time didn't stop, and the arrow impacted his chest, sending him flying backwards in stunned silence.

"You fool," snarled Klicktik, seeing his opportunity at reclaiming his status begin to bleed out in the dusty ground.

What he would've said next was moot, because at that point, an arrow from Ronon's weapon buried itself in the man's heart. He didn't fall at first, merely backpedaled a few steps, reaching for the shaft of the arrow, and looked up stupidly at McKay. Klicktik opened his mouth to say something, but instead, fell back, dead.

"That's it!" snapped McKay, turning on his heel, and running towards Sheppard's body. "No fucking more. I've had it! People shooting at me, holding knives to my throat, sticking arrows in my side, and goddamnit, you think you're going to fucking die on me now, no goddamn way, you hear me!" He dropped to his knees, and lifted Sheppard's limp torso. "You stupid son of a bitch, sacrificing yourself for me, what the hell were you thinking?"

"Home, McKay," whispered John, blinking against the sudden glare. "I want to go home."

McKay's hand shook as he gripped Sheppard. "I'll get you home, I promise."

"Let me," Ronon said, kneeling down to scoop Sheppard's body into his arms. "We can still save him."

They could still save him – they could. Carson could. McKay followed, dimly aware of Teyla talking urgently to the waiting soldier they'd brought along, the soldier who had stayed in the jumper to ensure no one came skulking about when they were doing their thing in the town. The soldier, who thank god, had the gene, and could fly them back.

Home. They were going home –

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: This is for you all, you fed the writer so well, that the writer felt guilty leaving you hanging, so the writer wrote part four and found out to her surprise that there will be five parts (not four), but the writer didn't leave you hanging so much this time! So, your diligence is muchly rewarded for your time and I hope you enjoy this part! (and now I'll quit the creepy third personal referrals) Thanks also to my beta who returned from incommunicado land thanks to storm damage, thanks Gaffer, you're the best and were missed muchly!  
**

**IV.**

Ronon set Sheppard on the floor of the jumper with far more gentleness than his size belied, while Teyla barked orders at the stunned soldier.

McKay heard the words; take off, dial – radio Atlantis.

"Call -" Rodney fumbled to speak through numb lips, "Someone tell them to call Carson."

"I have already done so," Teyla said softly, next to him, and McKay wondered when she'd gotten so close.

Rodney stared transfixed at the arrow protruding from Sheppard's chest, a grotesque talisman of the gigantic disaster of the mission with the Kenai people. How had this happened? When they'd left Atlantis, it'd seemed simple enough. Even, dare he say it, boring – but the events of the day, not even twenty-four hours, were anything but boring, and the repercussions – oh, god, what if Sheppard didn't make it? McKay's eyes were glued to John's chest. It was moving, slightly, just enough that he could see that Sheppard was breathing.

"Hang on, Colonel, just keep breathing," McKay found himself uttering. Then, "Where the hell is Carson?" he shouted towards the cockpit. He hadn't heard the doctor come over the radio. What if he should take out the arrow? What if there was something he was supposed to be doing that could save Sheppard, and he wasn't doing it because he didn't know?

A firm hand on his shoulder, and he looked up into Ronon's deep brown eyes. "He won't die."

Rodney wanted to believe that, but wasn't Sheppard's chest rising less often, not as high, his breathing growing erratic, slower – "It's bad," was all he could say in return.

"The colonel has survived worse," said Teyla, and both of them flashed back to a similar scene in the jumper, but there was no arrow back then, instead a large black bug intent on sucking as much life out of Sheppard as it could.

"Rodney, is the arrow still embedded firmly in the colonel's chest?" crackled Beckett's voice in his ear.

McKay almost sobbed with relief. "Yes, damnit, Carson, he's bleeding everywhere!"

There was a sucked in breath, and he could imagine the intensity rising in the gateroom. "Aye, I know," soothed Beckett. "Rodney, listen, whatever you do, do not remove the arrow – it's probably the only thing keeping Sheppard alive."

"What the fuck do you mean?" snapped McKay. "We can't leave the arrow in his chest! He can't breathe, Carson – it's – it's damaged his lung I think."

"I know," retorted Beckett, an edge appearing in his voice. "But if you remove it, it'll be like pulling the cork on a barrel of wine; he'll bleed to death before I can get anywhere near him."

Right. Bleed to death. _Son of a bitch_, he was bleeding to death anyway, and what the hell good did it do if he died from lack of oxygen before they got back?

Rodney closed his eyes, searching desperately for a buoy to anchor on, but he was on his own, being tossed on the frightening sea. He opened them again, drawn back to the gory wound, and resumed his vigil over watching John's chest rise and fall, rise and fall, but it wasn't rising. Fuck! Sheppard wasn't breathing – "Teyla, he's not breathing!" panicked, Rodney pulled on Sheppard's vest.

Teyla rushed to Sheppard's other side, and tilted the colonel's head back, breathing in two rapid breaths. McKay fumbled with Sheppard's wrist, and was relieved at the pulse, no matter how thready it was, at least it was there.

John coughed, and struggled into consciousness, after Teyla had repeated the rescue breathing three times over; red blood welled in the corner of his mouth, staining his teeth, and making Rodney want to gag from the sight of it. From the traumatic injury, and the emotional impact that the arrow was having on him. _Come on, one last breath –_ urged McKay to himself, just keep taking –

One last breath…this was not how it was supposed to happen, _damn it__Sheppard, breathe_ – Rodney listened for the rasp of an inhalation, held his face steady as stone over Sheppard's mouth, waiting – begging – for that soft waft of air that would tell him he'd taken another breath.

"I'm still –" Sheppard gurgled over the seeping blood, weeping out his mouth, and down his chin, "-here."

McKay's eyes burned. He knew his friend was in pain, so much damn pain, the arrow sticking straight through his chest ensured that, and he couldn't do a thing for him.

Carson had made him swear to leave the arrow alone.

"You're doing fine, Colonel," said McKay, forcing his words to stay calm, something to stay calm, because god knows, he wasn't calm at all.

"Mc-Kay." Sheppard's hand reached for Rodney's jacket, finding it, and latched on with the strength of a dying man. "Not," Sheppard wheezed, fighting for air, "your fault."

The panic down deep that McKay had tried to force into nothingness, had tried to force into that black hole where he had to keep those emotions, because they were so fucking crippling when something like this happened, wouldn't stay contained. The gravitational pull that was Sheppard was greater, and Rodney frantically sought Sheppard's hand, tacky with drying blood, and held it, not sure if it was a lifeline for John, or for himself.

"Don't," he whispered, cracking despite himself and all his vows. "Don't you fucking give up, Colonel, you hear me! You are not leaving me to explain this to Elizabeth, or Caldwell, or anyone else, you hear!" He was practically shouting now. "You take that last breath, and then you do it again, and you keep taking every damn last breath until I get you back to Carson-"

The frothy chuckle from Sheppard sent chills through McKay's veins. "It's" _breathe_ "not" _breathe_ "a" _breathe_ "last" _breathe_ "breath" _breathe_ "if –"

McKay waited – but Sheppard didn't finish, and Sheppard wasn't breathing anymore.

"No, no no no, Sheppard, don't –"

"Doctor McKay, what is the status of Colonel Sheppard?"

Beckett. Atlantis. The rear of the jumper was falling open, and he could see the medical team running towards him. They'd made it? Time slows, events freeze, and blood thickens –

"Save him," croaked Rodney, still holding Sheppard's hand. The dried blood had sealed their skin together, blood brothers, like the game kids play, but this hadn't been a game –

OoO

Someone had removed his hand from Sheppard's, right after the medical team had converged, and they'd begun throwing out medical jargon that went over Rodney's head, while stripping the colonel's clothes, and loading him on a gurney.

He'd never noticed how it was a dance, carefully orchestrated, and idly wondered how it'd looked when it'd been him on the stretcher in the past. Had Sheppard stood watching, with that hollow spot in his stomach, and wondered if he'd ever talk to him again?

"Rodney?"

McKay turned towards the voice, reflex more than acknowledgement. "Elizabeth," he said, just because that's what was expected from him, not because he had anything to say.

He saw her eyes search his face, saw her take in his state of shock, and watched as her worried gaze slid into gentle concern. She reached for his elbow, "You should get cleaned up."

He could feel his head already shaking no. He didn't want to get cleaned up. "Sheppard," he said instead. "I need to go check on Sheppard."

"He is hurt." The rumble of Ronon interrupted them.

McKay watched as her eyes narrowed down and she began assessing his physical state, and not so much his emotional, but she was looking in the wrong place. The damage outside was superficial; the damage inside – if Sheppard died, he didn't want to think about how deep that damage would be.

Somewhere along the way the friendship had deepened to a level where the thought of being here without him caused physical pain. No one understood him like Sheppard; no one listened to him, and had the ability to tell him to go fuck himself without making it personal.

He shrugged his shoulder, trying to loosen her hold, but that caused the barely formed clot over the trench created by the arrow graze to break free, and the blood seeped from the wound; shit, even his body cried for the injustice of it all.

"It's nothing," he protested anyway.

"Doctor Weir, we will see that he goes to the infirmary." Teyla looked at him firmly, and she nodded knowingly at Ronon.

Strong-armed. Fuck it. He wanted to go the infirmary anyway, right, he wasn't going to run off to his room and hide from what might be. He'd walk through those glass doors and face Beckett, and the news that might hurt him a lot more than anything else could or had. He wasn't a coward –

Ha! Who was he kidding, he sure as hell was. But looking at Elizabeth, already inclining her heard towards Teyla, he knew he was screwed.

_God, just don't be dead_, he begged to the ache in his chest, _just don't be dead –_

When he did walk through those doors, Ronon on his left and Teyla to his right, he didn't see Beckett – or Sheppard. And he felt his breathing quicken.

"He is in surgery," murmured Teyla.

Right, that's it. Not dead. He's not dead. Maybe if he said it often enough, it'd be true?

He'd feel a lot better about it, if John hadn't stopped breathing, again, while he watched.

McKay let himself be led to a bed, and he was aware of Teyla going in search of a doctor, while Ronon folded his arms, and regarded him evenly. "You don't have to watch me like a German Shepherd, Jesus, I won't try to leave."

"Yes, you would."

Christ. This new guy was more trouble than he was worth. "Yeah, well, maybe I would," he said daringly. "And you think you could stop me?"

Ronon didn't even blink. "Yes."

If he wasn't so worried about Sheppard, he'd be outraged – "Just sit, stay, whatever, you're making me nervous hovering like that."

He knew the saying, saved by the bell, but this time it was saved by the doc, because Ronon had looked a little insulted by the sit-stay comment, and his eyes had sparked dangerously, when Teyla had appeared, a doctor in tow.

The doctor was Beckett.

Suddenly, McKay's heart seized, and he squeaked, "Carson?"

One day, after this was all a bad nightmare, he'd have to ask Carson why he knew exactly what that one word meant – how he knew what Rodney had asked by the mere act of calling his name, but for now, he waited anxiously while the storm clouded face smiled tiredly.

"He's going to be okay."

Okay? "You mean, he's alive?"

"Yes, I mean he's alive," said Beckett. He studied McKay's arm, and frowned, moving to pull away the material. "And you, why didn't you tell anyone you were hurt?"

Rodney was grinning like he'd just won the Nobel Prize. He grabbed Carson's shoulders, "He's going to be okay!"

"Aye," repeated Beckett, staring harder at McKay. "Your arm, Rodney."

"Huh, that?" Rodney asked absently, still riding the elation of the fear coming to a crashing halt. "That's nothing – when can I see him?"

"He's being stitched up now, but he's still out of it – Rodney, he won't be aware of much for a while, plenty long enough to treat your injury." Beckett extracted himself from McKay's giddy hold, and pulled on a pair of surgical gloves, glancing over at Teyla and Ronon. "You two can get cleaned up before your post mission exam, unless there's any other injuries I should know about?" he asked a bit sharply, tossing a pointed look at McKay.

"I'm fine," assured Ronon, already backing up.

Teyla was smiling, partly because of Ronon's reaction and partly because of the news on Sheppard. "I am also unhurt."

"Good," said Carson, looking relieved. "Go, but don't take long," he reminded sternly.

McKay watched his guard dogs leave, and allowed himself to be guided into a half upright position on the infirmary bed, once Beckett adjusted the head portion of the gurney.

"Carson, remind me to take a vacation when I try to go on another mission," he mumbled. The emotional toll had taken its due, and he was left feeling washed out, and exhausted.

A snort was the only answer, but he felt a sharp prick of a needle on his hand. He looked down to see an IV needle being inserted. Before he could ask why, it was taped down, and another injection was being inserted in the port.

"Just something to relax you while we stitch this up, Rodney," assured Beckett.

Stitch? "I need stitches?" Was that panic now rising again?

Carson patted his shoulder, above and to the side of the cut. "Aye, but just a wee bit, and I promise, you won't feel a thing."

And already, Rodney's eyes were drifting shut, and he let go –


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Lilas, I'll be looking and eagerly waiting! Rogue, that was funny, it's always a treat when a review can make you laugh out loud! **

**So, here we are at the end of the fic. It's funny, because when the challenge came across the wires, I originally envisioned only the short scene at the beginning of part one. It was only after I had written that, that I considered the readers (putting myself in your shoes) want for more, so I kept writing. Every now and then there comes along a story that practically writes itself, and this was one of those. I want to thank everyone for reading, reviewing, and enjoying. Being able to create stories, and know that they are entertaining others, is a wonderful thing! **

**V.**

Consciousness returned to Sheppard slowly. Noise and light began to filter in, and soon his mind was processing sensory input from his body; and he rather wished he'd return to unconsciousness, because damn if it didn't hurt, even with the slightly light-headed, fluffy, 'you've been doped to your gills with pain killers' feeling.

What had happened? He had figured that he was in the infirmary, but just to be sure, he cracked his eyes slightly, and under lidded eyes, surveyed the room.

That would be a yes, then.

Memories have a funny way about them. They can scroll through your mind like scenes in a cinematic blockbuster, or they can flash erratically like broken connections on a circuit board. These – they were the broken kind.

He saw the goat's blood spattering on the floor, and McKay standing toe to toe, pissed at him for something, then it cut to an arena, and Ronon throwing a punch that hit him hard in the face – and then the memories sped up; him holding a sword to Klicktik's neck, and them running to the jumper, before finally, it slowed – and McKay was standing with an arrow to his side. One wrong move, and his friend would die, but it wasn't McKay that had been hit.

Sheppard could feel the slight tug of a chest tube, and the pull of stitches where the arrow had pierced his chest. Overall, he'd have to say he felt like hell.

Would it be possible to raise his hand, and say 'I quit, don't want to do this anymore, and by the way, could you please reverse all damage done to my body'? Of course, there aren't any backsies in the universe, except that time machine that his alternate self had crashed ten thousand years ago, with alternate Weir and Zelenka – and even that wouldn't undo the damage to his body, in fact, thinking about it only made his head ache, but come to think of it, that was a good one to backsie on, because otherwise they'd all be dead – again - and the current damage to his body would be irrelevant.

He was going to have to heal the long way, the painful way - time, patience, and a lot of drugs. He'd settle for the drugs taking away all the pain, instead of shaving off the edge, which is where he was at now. A few more days, and he'd be there, but by then he'd be impatient to get on his feet, and he'd take less than he should, and he'd hurt, still, anyway. Life's a bitch.

Somewhere along the way, he'd opened his eyes more, and begun to take notice of his surroundings. Because of that, he saw when Beckett walked in, McKay tagging on his heels.

"I thought you said he'd be awake by now," McKay was saying, clearly perturbed.

Carson hadn't seen Sheppard yet, but he looked dogged and harassed. He stopped walking, and turned about, causing McKay to pull up short. "Rodney, he is fine, I've told you at least ten times now. Would you stop hounding me already?" The tense lines around Beckett's mouth eased. "Look, we'll let you know when he wakes up. First to know, promise."

Sheppard tilted his head and upper body slightly their way to get a better look, and the movement caused that stupid chest tube to move, which sent a spike of pain through his side. "Ow!" he swore, trying to move back where he'd been, and get away from the pain.

"Colonel!" McKay forgot Carson.

Sheppard watched as Rodney walked towards him, and this time it was Beckett trailing on McKay's heels, but the doctor was looking relieved, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his white lab coat.

McKay's arm was in a sling, and his face was more pale than usual. His eyes were ringed with black, and he almost looked like a raccoon. "You look like shit, McKay," he rasped. Water – he needed water.

Beckett was already moving to a table by his bed and pouring a glass. Carson depressed the mechanical lift until Sheppard's back was at a forty-five degree angle, just enough for him to sip from a straw without spilling.

"And you look ready to leap tall buildings in a single bound," retorted Rodney.

Sheppard chuckled, or at least he tried to, but the pain it caused set off a fresh round of 'ow', and he aborted mid-laugh. He winced and said, "Don't make me laugh."

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," stumbled McKay.

"Don't apologize," Sheppard said, grimacing as he pulled his stitches again. "God damnit, Beckett, can't you give me something more, this hurts!"

"If you quit moving, it wouldn't hurt as much," remonstrated Beckett, but he was already pulling a syringe full of something from his pocket. "Just a wee top off, but you need to stay still."

Whatever, thought Sheppard, but he caught McKay's stricken face. The memories flashed again, back to the jumper, and Rodney holding on to him as if the act alone would keep John in this side of the world. He remembered something was important – something he'd said to McKay. _Not your fault_ – "Not your fault," he echoed.

Rodney's jaw stiffened. "Give me time to think of a witty comeback."

Beckett injected the dose of painkiller, and Sheppard tried to keep his eyes focused on Rodney, but his eyelids were heavy. "No witty comeback," he slurred. "Just shit happens."

"Right, and sorry for saying so, but I appear to be the cosmic crapper, because shit keeps happening to us, and I have to think it wouldn't, quite so often, if I weren't around."

Did he just ask for Beckett to drug him? Because he needed to think clearly now, and his mind was floating fuzzily away, while Rodney was standing next to him admitting to the weight of responsibility he felt, and Sheppard was helpless to tear those layers of guilt away – maybe that's why McKay felt safe enough to admit it. He knew Sheppard couldn't confront Rodney's demons right now.

He fought to keep his eyes open, and he saw enough to see Carson frowning worriedly at McKay.

"This isn't finished," he murmured sleepily, before losing the battle to stay awake.

Which his why he missed McKay saying, "Yes, it is," before leaving the infirmary.

OoO

The next couple of days were passed in a haze of sweaty pain. Sheppard developed a fever, and while the antibiotics that Beckett promptly prescribed chased away the infection, it left him feeling even weaker than before.

He was mostly awake now, and the chest tube had been removed only an hour ago, but he still felt like curling up somewhere and dying. He knew that McKay was out there, somewhere, doing his job and going about his day, but feeling as wounded as Sheppard did; and he was helpless to do a thing about it.

And once you added up his hurts, his tiredness, and general malaise, and stirred in McKay's issues, you wound up with one irritable, pissed off Colonel, champing at the bit to get out of the infirmary, but too sick to demand it.

So when Ronon and Teyla dropped by for a visit, he knew what he had to do –

"Bring McKay, whether he wants to or not," grunted Sheppard, trying to find a spot that didn't make him acutely aware of the stitches that were beginning to itch unbearably.

Ronon seemed amused at the prospect, and Sheppard had a momentary lapse of conviction. "Uh, preferably standing," he amended.

Teyla lifted a washcloth from the basin on the table, and wiped away the sweat that dotted his forehead. The fever was mostly gone now, but he was still sweating, from the pain, from the remnants of the infection– it wasn't taking much to make him sweat right now.

"He has been avoiding you," she agreed, setting the rag back on the table. "He blames himself."

"He'll be here," Ronon added.

"Good," said Sheppard, but he felt compelled to add, "and remember, on his own two feet – no dragging him, or anything."

Whether Ronon actually resorted to threats, he would never know, but two hours later, McKay came stalking in to the infirmary, and latching on to Sheppard, seemed shocked at his appearance, and finished the journey with less bluster.

"Your slaves sent for me," he grouched. "I'm busy, so make it quick."

"If you hadn't been avoiding me, I wouldn't have had to send them after you," bitched Sheppard, groaning as another round of intense itching centered on his chest. "You know, you could have a little compassion, and realize that worrying over you isn't helping my recovery."

"Worrying over -" McKay spouted, and stopped, shaking his head minutely as if trying to clear his confusion, "What?"

"You think this is all your fault."

Sometimes blunt is best. Sometimes it works – then again, sometimes it doesn't.

"And?" drawled McKay, patently bored with him for stating the obvious.

Okay, so maybe it didn't work. "It's not," said Sheppard, not so patiently. "So get over yourself already."

"Oh, I'm sorry," started Rodney, sarcasm so thick it practically oozed off the walls, "I thought that it was my reaction over the goat sacrifice that caused us to be thrown in jail, and at that point you offered yourself up in my place; and, there's the time I was used as a pawn to get you to consent to their terms – and the time I was the one grabbed, and used as a hostage to get to you..." McKay ticked off events on his hand, and paused, looking hard at Sheppard. "Did I forget anything? Because the prevailing theme here is 'use Rodney McKay to get to John Sheppard', and it's pissing me off. I'm not going to be some fucking galactic pawn to your downfall."

Well, hell, he'd asked for that. Even pushed for it. But when confronted with it – Christ. What do you say? "Do you think none of it would've happened if it hadn't been you?" Sheppard finally asked.

"Exactly," replied McKay, without even giving it consideration.

"Then you're stupider than your degrees would seem to indicate," gritted John. "Because if you think you've got the corner on objections to alien actions, and the only path to my conscience, then think again."

McKay jerked his head back as if Sheppard had slapped him physically. "That was low, Colonel."

_Yeah, well, so is bailing on your sick friend_, thought Sheppard angrily. Everything was in what he didn't say. McKay didn't have a monopoly on the path to his conscience; McKay was his conscience. And how fucked was that – a sarcastic, obnoxious, arrogant man, who could break it down into simple degrees, and boil away the political morass to 'right and wrong'. McKay was his objection.

He knew that McKay wouldn't let him do something stupid, just as he knew that McKay knew that Sheppard would do the same for him, and if that didn't confuse you enough –

He tried harder to make better decisions, to be wiser, and better, faster, and righter, because of Rodney McKay. Because he cared more for McKay's life than his own, and one wrong decision could cost everything. He hadn't cared enough to do that in a long time, not since he'd disobeyed orders in Afghanistan, and cost his career because of it. And, that's why he wasn't going to let McKay turn his back on him now, and quietly skulk away from his team.

"Then quit sulking, and get over it. We both made mistakes, but nobody died," with a mirthless laugh he added, "none of us, at any rate."

He could see the emotions warring on McKay's face. Rodney got that it wasn't about surface issues. But, Rodney was, only now, getting the ramifications of what could happen, despite the dangers they'd faced previously. "Not this time," he finally said, staring hollowly at Sheppard. "It was close. I thought you were going to die."

"But I didn't."

"No kidding," snorted Rodney. "But you almost did. You almost died, Sheppard, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it."

Sheppard forgot his stitches, and pushed himself on his side. "And you haven't? Jesus Christ, Rodney, how do you think I felt when the Genii were threatening to kill you and Elizabeth, and all I could do was shout over the radio, knowing even if I tried, I couldn't get to you in time to stop it? Or when Kolya took you on that little side trip on Dagan? Do you ever stop to think it's not always about you? How many times has the shoe been on the other foot?"

McKay would've left, if it hadn't been for the sudden lack of color on Sheppard's face, and the latter slumping back on the bed, pushing a shaking hand against the wound on his chest, and sweating buckets.

"Stupid son of a bitch, you just keep pushing, don't you," swore Rodney, reaching for the same cloth Teyla had used only a while before; wetting it, and wiping the newly accumulated beads of sweat.

"I have to," whispered Sheppard, trying to slow his breathing, and recover from the pain his exertion had cost him. "You're not going to internalize this, and let it affect my team."

"Your team?" exclaimed McKay. "Well, see, there's your problem; it's my team. You're just there for protection. You're the grunt force, while I'm the intelligence."

"Keep dreaming, and maybe someday it'll come true," joked Sheppard.

McKay pulled up a chair, tossing the rag on the table. He supposed he'd stick around, if anything, to make sure Sheppard didn't get in over his head. God knows, he'd been instrumental in getting their asses out of the fire before, like the time on the jumper –

"I'm only staying because I want to, not because you did that amateur psychology crap," he mentioned, leaning his feet on the metal framing of the gurney. "And while we're on the subject, has Carson been hovering more than usual, or is that just me?"

Sheppard grinned. Whatever had done it, how it had happened, it didn't matter, because it'd worked. Rodney was back, they were alive, and god, his chest itched! He reached a hand to scratch while saying, "I think it's just you -"

"Stop itching, you'll only make it worse."

"I can scratch if I want to."

"No, you can't, Carson – Sheppard won't leave his stitches be!"

And so, life on Atlantis found its way back to the crazy normal –

THE END


End file.
